The Mirror of Erised
by Autumn Malfoy-Potter
Summary: Harry is growing up. He has seen more than most boys his age. Lost in a spiraling depression, he is thrown out by a sudden realization: he no longer sees his parents in the Mirror of Erised. Now he sees: Draco Malfoy?
1. The Mirror Of Erised

**Disclaimer: The characters belong to JKR. The Lyrics also don't belong to me.**

_You think I don't see you backstabbing me _

_Like a friend to me _

_My dear enemy _

_You're condescending with every word _

_It makes you happy but what is it worth?_

_You're like a virus eating my skin _

_It's a problem _

_I think its a sin_

The exies -- My Dear Enemy

The lighted Potions classroom was anything but pleasant, it was only rivaled by the dark potions classroom. It was cold and dank, the smell of a sewer, lingering above their heads. Harry didn't want to know what happened in here at night, a monster probably lived here.

The doors swung open, and what was moments before, a cheerfully chattering class was now silent. It was an eerie silence. The type that reminded Harry of a morgue. Peaceful. The way his funeral might be.

Professor Snape's greasy hair fell into his face. His eye's scaning the class for his first victim of the day. His eyes fell on Harry, but Harry knew if he acknowledged what would happen next it would be twice as bad. He averted his eyes to the ceiling. There was quite a bit of garbage on up there. Words magically printed on, saying crude thing to the onlookers below.

"Today you will learn to brew an antisepticide potion which should, if made correctly, work as a household cleaner," His eyes travelled over the class "For those of you who show compitence in the art of potion making this shall be an easy grade" His eyes flicked to Malfoy, his lips turning up in an approving smile, or the closest thing to a smile he had ever seen Snape display "For those of you who are barely passing this course" his eyes fell on Neville, who flinched in fear, "This shall be a challenge. The instructions are on the board. Begin."

The class let out its usual volume of groans, some more desperate then others. Snape gave them a warning glare, and the groans ceased to continue.

Harry's eyes moved to the chalk board with its usual lengthy list of ingredients. Harry made his way over to the Student store cupboard. A line already forming in front of him. He waited his turn, in no way in a hurry to begin. When his turn came, he picked out the potion supplies which were needed for the class, and strode back over to his cauldron. Ron and Hermione were already back, Ron complaining once more about Snapes' favoritism to his own house.

"We all know bloody Malfoy is going to get perfect marks on his finals!"

"Honestly, Ron, if you worked a little more-"

"-Worked? Do you think working will help me when Snape already has it out for me? He has had it in for us since 1st year? Since when has work helped us Hermione? When? I dare you to tell me one instance!"

Harry rolled his eyes at how hysterical Ron had become. Snape had always found something wrong with his work, even when it was spotless of flaw. Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't bring up a single moment.

Harry laid down his supplies in the order shown on the board so he wouldn't have to look up anymore. He began peeling the skin off the boomslang slicing from one end to the other, as he would a carrot. He put the skin of the boomslang on the table in long strands. He started to dice the eye of a lamb, with a blunt knife. He couldn't get a grip on the round eyeball, it kept popping out from either side. The blade slipped, slicing open the heel of Harrys palm. Blood surfaced lacing his hand with a ribbon of crimson.

"Jesus Harry!" Seamus said, his face pale from the sight of blood.

"Harrys cut himself!" Hermione shouted across the room. A few Slytherins cheered.

"Way to go Potter!"

"Maybe he hit a vein!"

The only person who wasn't either excited or paniced by his now bloody hand, was Harry. He was staring as red fluid surfaced between the two flaps of flesh with morbid fascination.

"Move out of the way!" Snape shouted at the Gryffindors who had surrounded his table in nervousness. When he lifted Harry's hand his face grew scrunched with irritation. "One would think you all weren't wizards!" He muttered a soft healing charm, Harry's hand grew warm with the spell, before the skin sealed itself over. He moved his fingers, good as new.

"Are you okay now Harry?" Ron questioned. Harry nodded, feeling nausious. He stared down at his palm, the cut hadn't been deep nor could it have hurt him. The blue blob of a vien running up his arm was to far to the left.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, for not paying attention to what you were doing, Potter," Snape drawled, he then turned and stroled up the classroom to help Draco Malfoy.

"You'd think having your hand sliced open would have been punishment enough." Ron muttered.

It took the better part of an hour for the class to settle back down. Slytherins kept shooting him looks as though they didn't want to miss him cut himself again. Hermione kept giving him her worried-mother look. She knew something was wrong; Harry knew she had known. She had a gift for reading his emotions, even when he didn't want her to.

A few cauldrons behind Harry a small explostion of a different sort was taking place, already. Snape, was standing over poor Neville, his eyebrows raised.

"Mr. Longbottom you have already succeeded in getting no marks for the day. The potion is to be aqua blue not yellow!"

A loud bang echoed through the dungeons, something hard hit Harry in the back of the head, and the rest was a blur. He felt himself fall to the floor, but couldn't prevent it.

"Oh look what you've done Neville!" moaned Ron, suddenly very far away.

Darkness consumed Harry. Where moments before had been a lighted classroom was now an empty pool of black. Lights danced in front of his eye lids, colors that weren't really colors. A trick of the mind. Voices murmered his name, but they were too far away to matter, too insignificant. Sounds that weren't really sounds, just as the colors in front of his eyes were only an illusion. Harry knew what they said about him. He knew what they said when they thought he wasn't listening. The moment he turned his eyes away from them, they started. Everyone had two sides, the side Harry saw, and the side hid from Harry. He knew what they whispered too, because it echoed through his mind like an empty corridor, when he lay awake at night.

The murmuring grew louder, a faint buzzing in his ears. He could make out words if he tried, but it took far to much effort. The noises around him were bothersome, a buzzing of flies in his ears. He wanted to swat them, to get them out of there.

Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived.

The-Boy-Who-Let-Go-Too-Easily. Who was to weak to shelter the other students from Voldemort's wrath.

The-Boy-Who-Failed-His-School. The one who let them all down. The one-who-shall-not-be-teased-because-he-is-to-fragile-to-handle-it.

Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Died-Before-Death-Came-For-Him.

Death wasn't such a scary thought for Harry. He imagined it to be dark and warm. A blanket that kept out all the fears that held him tightly during his waking hours. A thoughtless dream. Death was something everyone feared, but not Harry, he called to it like a child calling for his mother. It was his savior and his burden. It reminded him of a game Professor Lupin had once told him about the Whomping Willow, they had ran up to the Whomping Willow and seen how close they dared to go. Death was the same for Harry, he'd see how close he dared to go before running away. It facinated him.

Harry Potter The-Boy-So-Guilt-Ridden-He'd-Do-Anything-To-Get-Out-Of-His-Own-Skin.

Panic crawled under his skin, a sick feverish panic. He had to run, to make it stop. He couldn't move, couldn't even open his eyes. He could feel a hand patting his shoulder. Checking his pulse, soft comforting hands.

The buzzing was dimming and the voices growing louder. He wanted the buzzing back. Make the voices go away. He didn't want the pity. The sympathy.

"Oh Harry wake up!" It was Hermione, she had that motherly voice again. The one that she used when she caught him leaning over the edge of the stairs, looking over, wondering what it would be like to just let go. To fall. Would dying that way be painful? A rush of the stomach?

"Mr. Potter can you hear me?" Snape.

His eyes sprung open and met a silvered icy gaze. Malfoy's pale hand was outstretched on his neck. Draco Malfoy had been checking his pulse!

"He's fine. To bad..." Malfoy's eyes lit up "You'd think you had a death wish or something, Potter."

"Something like that." Harry agreed just low enough for no one to hear. He had the distinct impression Malfoy had heard though, his eyes had narrowed.

Snape was sitting next to Draco Malfoy. He could see him now. his robes billowing out around him, as he kneeled over Harry. His greasy hair falling inches from Harry's face, Harry's first reaction was to swat at Snape like a fly. The second was to sit up. Harry launched himself up, but that gave no time for Snape to react, the result was their heads smacked together, a crack hanging in the air like ice. Snape fell backwards onto his bottom and Harry ended up sprawled out on the cold classroom floor again.

"Please refrain from smacking me against my skull again. Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Lost-His-House-Points.

* * *

The rest of the day did far from improve. A dark cloud seemed to follow over his head, sending down misery and grief. Not one single class passed him that did not hold some form of anguish. Though all his classes were bad, none were as horrid as Divination, with the exception of Potions.

He had climbed the wooden ladder into the circular room, of north tower. It was a hot and sticky day outside, which made the room twice as smelly. It seemed like North Tower was set on the sun, that they were inches from the sun's rays. As always the fire was cracking merrily in the hearth of the stove. Ron seated himself at the table furthest away from the fire, yet near a window. Harry joined him, setting his bag on the floor.

It only took minutes for his robes to be sticking to his back, his hair was drenched in sweat. Divination was just a time to take a nap. To wonder what waited for him outside the school. The inevitable. Death. It was what they were all waiting for. One day they would all die and there was absolutely nothing any of them could do about it. That's how life always ended, a poetic tragedy with coffins and ugly flowers. Harry didn't know what all the fuss was really about. It always came back to death, to the point where all his thoughts circled the one thing. His thoughts were interupted, as was a habit, by Professor Trelawny.

"Oh my dear, your aura is down cast? Do you feel the presence of Death?" She asked him in her usual misty voice.

"Er- no," Harry murmured, caught off guard.

"Well, I suggest you watch your way. Danger follows you."

A low sounding of sniggers distracted Harry from her words. Draco Malfoy was sitting with his back to him, his head cocked around to look at him. He laughed at Harry. He didn't try to hide it, just laughed. That more then anything else, made Harry want to go sit with Malfoy. He was tired of people fretting over him, asking if he was okay. He wanted someone to push around, give him no choice, but to feel something.

"I thought you said Death followed him?" Malfoy asked, laughing even more mirthfully. Professor Trewlawney's head whipped around to eye her rebelious student. Her eyes narrowed at him, as if trying to decide if he was being serious or not.

"Death is not something to 'kid' about," she said and with that and shifted her eyes back to Harry. Challenging him to laugh too. Harry couldn't help it, this whole scenario was so ironic that he fell forward, his head hitting the desk, his hands gripping his stomach, an eerie shrill laugh sounding from his mouth.

She turned away to help Parvati and Lavendar who were eagerly working out of their books.

Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Laughed-at-Death;

Once the laughter subsided, his eyes focused on Malfoy. He was looking at him as if he was absoulutly mental.

"So much for offending you, Potter," Malfoy muttered, just barely audible for Harry to hear.

Professor Trelawney didn't understand, Harry decided later. Death was something that was always there. It lingered in the air; it stuck in his hair like old gum. Death could be sensed a mile off; it smelled sour.

Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Death was something that consumed his every waking moment. He knew it was morbid, even wrong to think about death, but that made it all the more appealing. It became something that set him away from his status of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and brought him closer to just "Harry". Closer to his parents, as they died when he was only a baby. They died for Harry. The selfishness of wanting to die, when his parents would have loved to live. Harry didn't know that though, he didn't even know his parents so he couldn't know they wanted to live.

The sun filtered in, and if he turned his head, he could see dust rising in the air, like a mini sand storm. Dust filtered on light. It facinated Harry, seduced him. He felt his mind drifting off, his senses closing down... _The tree's swayed in the wind, seemingly too tall. They should fall over. The branches should fall. Nothing happens. Everything is covered in a blue haze, Harry is in the woods; he can see the castle from where he is standing. The oaks and pines begin moving on their own accord. Covering the view. He isn't safe. He has to move. Harry is running through the woods, a cold crackling wind shakes him. A high laugh sounds out behind him. He turns around and no one is there. No. Someone is there, but they are hiding. He tries to push the branches aside but there is a solid wall behind them. Panic coils in his stomach, twisting through his intestines. Cold-blooded panic. He runs. Harry doesn't know where he is going but he is running as fast as he can. He tries to turn around-_

When the bell rang it jostled him out of his dream. He blinked sleepily. The scar beneath his jet black hair prickled. He rubbed at it furiously.

The class had gone quicker then usual, but at the same time it went at a sluggish pace. Like all the nights this week, when he was supposed to be sleeping, blurs of images consumed him. Everything became a movie he got lost in, until the sun fell through the hangings and woke him up once more. Then he did it all again. Letting the patterns show too easily, if he just moved he wouldn't have to think. Thinking was dangerous, as was alot of things lately.

He picked up his book and followed Ron down the ladder.

* * *

The moon hung low in the sky, like a fat chunk of margerine. It was a quiet kind of night, the kind that you believe if you are quiet enough, you'd be able to hear the earth moving.

Night was something Harry loved to hate. There was two sides to his view about the evening; Since no one were around, so he didn't have to put on his happy face and be cheerful Harry. On the other side with no one around the silence was over whelming. His thoughts seemed to dominate his mind, and everything would become a fuzzy blur. That's when the fast, but slow pace began. To escape himself he would often busy himself. This evening, he settled on a walk around Hogwarts.

He had been made prefect at the beginning of sixth year when one of the prefects resigned. So, he had access to the school at such late hour's without the need of his invisibility cloak. He often took the later rounds just as something to do when out at night.

The halls were bare, a blue haze moving off of the stone walls, from the clouds outside. The only sound was his feet on the floor moving down the corridor. He lost track of where he was, and often took so many turns that he got lost. By 7th year he knew the castle like the back of his hand by daylight, but at night everything was different. The world was covered with a thin layer of blue, and the shadows crept at him through the corners.

He passed by a door, one he had noticed in the daylight, but never had a second thought about. There were words printed around the edges of the handle in stone. A snake's head was the door knob in striking resembalense to Number 12 Grimmauld Place's door handles. He held out his arm, twisting the knob. The heavy door fell inward allowing him to walk into the pitch darkness of the room beyound. Harry took out his wand.

"Lumos," A thin beam of wandlight protruded from the tip of Harry's wand. He held up his hand's to look around the room, his eye's adjusting to the darkness.

The room was bare, with only one window, and a tall mirror in one corner. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust. Harry stepped toward the mirror recognizing it instantly, the Mirror of Erised.

He had stood before it in first year, his parents standing on either side in his reflection. It's job was to show his deepest darkest desires, and at eleven year's old his deepest need was for his parents, as Ron's need was to stand out. Harry had thought that after the Dark Lord Voldemort had attempted to get the Sorcer's stone from within it, it had been desposed of. Harry had been wrong.

He was taller now, and could easily trace the word's around the top edge of the mirror. He stood before it, his dark hair as untidy as always. Harry held onto the edge of the mirror, bracing himself to see his parents, what he got was as far as his parents as he could get. A man materilized beside him in the mirror. One with a pointy face, bleach blonde hair, and cold steel grey eyes. Draco Malfoy. He leaned toward Harry, his platinum blond hair falling onto Harry's shoulder.

Harry turned around his wand in his hand ready to strike, under the interpretation that Draco Malfoy was standing beside him. He was not though, only in the mirror was he beside him, in real life he was alone in the empty, dusty room.

He turned back to the Mirror of Erised. His eyes shifted over Malfoy, disgust coming up within him. The mirror must lie. It must had been broken when Voldemort tried to get the stone from it's depths.

"Out on prefect rounds I presume, Mr. Potter?"

Framed in the doorway was Albus Dumbledore, as he had stood in his first year, and explained how the mirror worked. Harry wasn't as suprised this time to see him standing before him.

"I was about to go, Professor."

Dumbledore looked down his crooked nose, over his half moon glasses at him. His eyes twinkled, seeming to radiate more light then his wand had.

"What did you see in the Mirror, my boy?"

Harry hesitated, his blood running cold as it alway's did when Dumbledore seemed to read his mind.

''I think the mirror is broken."

Dumbledore's features grew thoughtful on his face, tight with a mixture of curiousity and sadness.

"And why is that, Harry?"

"I saw Draco Malfoy. Standing beside me. I used to see my parents."

Dumbleodore did none of the things Harry thought he might. There was no earth quake. Dumbledore didn't scream out or break the mirror. He just stood in front of him, his expression unchanged.

"As I said six years ago, the Mirror of Erised shows thedeepest most desperate desires of our heart."

Harry nodded, but plunged forward to explain to the old man. "But I see Draco Malfoy."

"Then perhaps you desire young Mr. Malfoy in your life, more than you have in the past, hm?."

Harry scoffed.

"I do not! I don't even know him! What I do know is I despise-"

"You don't need to explain to me, Harry. I suggest you talk to Mr. Malfoy, or listen to your own heart."

Harry shook his head.

"It is your decition, Harry."

Harry nodded his head.

Dumbledore gazed at the mirror, his eyes veiled with something like longing. Harry remembered what Dumbledore had once told him he saw in the mirror: himself holding a pair of wollen socks. Harry let a smile linger on his lips, making a note to buy him a new pair of socks.

"If there isn't anything else, I must ask you to go back to bed, my dear boy."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, still smiling a bit.

As he followed the Professor out of the classroom, he thought about what he must do. He knew what he'd have to do on Saturday. He had to figure out why the Mirror of Erised displayed Malfoy as the thing his heart most desired. Or whether it is possible the mirror lied.

Harry Potter The Investigator.

_To Be Continued..._


	2. In The Hall

**Title: **The Mirror of Erised

**Chapter: **Two

**Rating:** R

**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF

**Author: **Autumn Malfoy-Potter

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry the update took so long. Honestly, I tried to speed things up, but I have had quite a few slow beta's. One beta i'm not even sure recieved the email. If you _want _to beta edit this for me, feel free, and email it to me at Don't expect a reply though, because I can only recieve emails, not send them on this computer.

Mmm I decided to make Draco a writer in this ficlet. I don't know how it will turn out, and I don't think it is completly uncanon. Who know's what goes on behind those grey eyes?

I thought the song lyric I chose for this chapter fit it nicely. Let me know if you feel the same. I tried to find a good one. The original one I was going to use, will be used in the next chapter. It'd fit better there.

I started this before HBP, so I am going to keep going on as though the sixth book had yet to happen.

Critique and Comments are appreicated. Reviews are an writers best friend.

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Lyrics also not mine.

_Come as you are, as you were,_

_As I want you to be As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy _

_Take your time, hurry up_

_The choice is yours, don't be late _

_Take a rest as a friend as an old memoria_

- Nirvana / Come As You Are

Chapter Two

Love was something Draco could say he was never really looking for. Some may say this was the product of growing up at Malfoy Manor, and Draco, in particular, would have to agree with them. He'd grown up watching his parents, their reactions, their emotions and he knew, just like any other child would have known: his parents were not in love. They were merely together for appearance. What would people say if they had a divorce? That was the only thing linking them together through the years. Draco wasn't foolish enough to make himself believe it was for him; it has never been nor ever would be for Draco.

At the age of sixteen when his best friends were falling in love, (even Crabbe and Goyle had found girlfriends). Draco sat in the library studying. He was determined to do something more productive with his time instead of finding someone, having a few messy shags and then being miserable with each other. He'd even go as far as saying that, his happiness was his alone and he wouldn't let any bloody female take it from him. Suck the life out of him.

There were more aspects about Draco that came from the depths of Malfoy Manor. Some of them made his father proud... others made him angry and resentful. One of these bothersome characteristics came to light at the young age of nine, when Draco had spoken out of turn (A mistake no proper Malfoy should ever have done) and had been punished for it. Sitting upon the windowsill inside his large room, he to was filled with rage, with insults. To the point that he thought, if he didn't let them out he may explode. If he told his mother about it, he'd be told to hold his tongue. No-Malfoy-Should-Ever-Lose-His-Temper chanted the voice inside his head, which sounded shockingly like his father's.

He took out a notebook from the den cabinet, and carried it up to his room. He raged upon these pages through the ink. Told his deepest thoughts and fears, and tore his father to pieces. It was then that the Diary Of Draco Malfoy began. He always made sure to hide it under his mattress, once he was done writing in it, so his thoughts had an air of privacy to them.

At first it was just used when angry or afraid, a source to confide to. But soon he captured moments in these pages, ones he didn't want to forget. It was months before his diary was summoned from its hiding place by a maid, who was putting new sheets on the bed. She had been pulling the sheets off the bed, when his diary had gotten disloged from its hiding place. She thought Malfoy Senior should know about his son's tendency, and handed the diary to Draco's father. He was not pleased at all. Not with all the names Draco called him, when angry. Lucius was a closed man, not one to touch, or care for his son, or even his wife. It was ordered for the house elves to spank Draco raw, and so they did, Draco didn't dare sit for a week without flaming pain.

He tried to stop writing but the more he kept things in, the more he felt like he'd explode from the inside-out. His first year at Hogwarts taught him better way's for keeping his journal private. When he was done writing, he'd wipe the notebook with a potion to make the ink visible to his eyes only. Malfoy Senior was no longer bothered by Draco's Diary, for Lucius hated creativity. Draco hated compression and sought out anyway for release, from then on his diary was secret, and wiped clean every time he finished.

The moments in the library were ones of reflection, even if he tried to make it look like studying. He'd spend hours sitting with his head in a book thinking. Sometimes he even forgot where he was, he fell so deeply within his own emotions. It was after these Library Sessions that he opened his eyes to greater prospects. The walk back to the dungeons always brought back the same fleeting thoughts: His father was in prison. He could no longer torment his son, and he was no longer pushed to join Lord Voldemort. Even if he was a fool, to write down his fears on paper, he wasn't fool enough to believe that joining Lord Voldemort would bring him protection. He wouldn't tell his friends it, but he was on the Ministry's side. Death Eater or not he knew he'd die before Lord Voldemort's fall; at least he would die ensuring that he was on the side his father was not.

* * *

The weeks following the start of school brought new measures of safety around and within Hogwarts. The news that Voldemort really was alive once more had made the ministry more concerned about the safety of students. There was a team of Auror's standing position around the school, and Order members standing shifts at the entrances. Harry could often be spotted sitting at the gates talking to Remus Lupin. No one really understood what it was like to lose Sirius, but Remus did. Sirius was his last remaining friend, and Harry's last father figure.

It was a windy day, one of the last sunny days of autumn. The sun was shining weakly, casting stain class shadows of orange and yellow from the shading oak tree, which was planted a few feet away from the gates.

Remus Lupin was standing just within the gates, and kept glancing through the bars into Hogsmead watching for intruders. Harry was slumped against one of the cement blocks topped with a winged boar. His hair was even more untidy then usual, having been tousled by the wind.

"Professor?" Harry asked, his voice sounding slightly offbeat and uncomfortable. Remus winced at the title; he was after all, no longer a teacher.

"I have told you Harry, just call me Remus."

"Remus?" Harry asked, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. "I was wondering... before I asked Malfoy... I mean, you know the school best along with my Dad and Sirius -" He stopped speaking in horror. It was the three syllables he wasn't allowing himself to utter.

"Yes?" Remus asked, as though nothing out of the normal has happened. "You were wondering what?"

"If - if you knew anything about how the Mirror of Erised could be broken? I think it is, but Professor Dumbledore, says its not." Harry plunged on, his cheeks flushed.

"What prompted this question?" Remus asked.

"I see Malfoy in the mirror... it must be broken." he murmured.

"That is impossible. The mirror is made to fix itself if, and only if, it ever breaks."

Harry's stomach plummeted to somewhere below his navel. He'd have to ask Malfoy... just what was he to say? "I see you in the Mirror, so I must most dearly want you!" sounded to corny to say, he could feel his cheeks burning at the thought. An idea popped into his head, a hopeful one.

"Malfoy must have cursed it."

"No. The metal has spells to keep it from being charmed. Spells no normal wizard, especially one still attending wizarding school, could break." Remus replied.

He stood up, wiping non-existent dirt from the back of his robes. He shouldered his backpack, and looked up toward the castle. He could glimpse student's moving just beyond the windows.

"I should be going Prof- Remus." he caught himself at the very last moment. The sun was highlighting Lupin's silver streaks in his hair.

"Take care, Harry."

Harry nodded. His green eyes, roaming the turrets.

"You to."

He turned his back to his mentor, and walked the slight hill up to the Castle. His mind edging nervously around thoughts of Malfoy, and what he had to do.

* * *

Draco was sitting on his four-poster, with the curtains drawn around him. All the other sixth years were down at breakfast. He pulled opened the emerald fabric to bring the rest of the dungeon dormitory into view.

The window, exactly across the room from his bed was open. Crabbe probably forgot to close it. Bird songs fluttered through the pane. He stood up, and walked across the room. The window was level with the ground outside; grass was growing, obscuring his view. There were two figures at the gates. One of their old professor, and the other of Harry Potter. He closed the shutters bringing him into near darkness, and crossed the space to his trunk.

He unlocked it with his wand, and pulled it open. Beneath the clutter of his robes, was a slim notebook with dog-eared pages. He opened it to the middle, where the frayed pages met the crisp new ones. Draco pulled from the depths of his trunk a quill and bottle of ink, bringing them to the edge of the bed and sitting down.

He dipped the quill into scarlet ink, and pressed it to the white sheet, letting words flow through his hand onto the paper.

_The air smelled like gasoline and mowed grass;  
Clean and fresh, but so dirty;  
Like new shoes, that fill the nostrils with poison,  
but shine for the human eyes. _

He brought the quill to his lips, sucking on the end of it. Then dipped it into the pot of ink, pressing it back down. Plunged back into his thoughts.

_He asked why everything so beautiful had to tear him to pieces;  
and I murmured,  
'because love is a shade you never get pure white';  
And it sounded just like that time he told me,  
'the mind is a carousel, some seats have more jewels then others';  
And I wondered for nights after,  
whether my seat was covered with jewels;  
Or if it was a slab of wood painted black.  
_  
His face flushed red. He was not a romantic, sometimes when his hand touched a quill, it ran away with him to places he had never been. He'd die of humiliation if anyone knew he was artistic. He'd die if anyone saw the paper. None-the-less, he dipped the quill one final time.

_I wondered whether he was in his bed,  
asking why the world couldn't shine pearly white,  
like teeth right after going to the dentist;  
And I knew he was wondering, always wondering.  
_  
He laid the notebook on the bed, to wait for the ink to dry. Draco painted the page with the special potion from within his trunk, so no one else could view it. Thus, putting it back in his trunck and securing the lock.

As he pulled on his dress robes once more, the voice so much like his fathers chanted Malfoys-Should-Not-Be-Weak.

* * *

The problem, Harry realized later, was finding time to talk to Malfoy. Perhaps, he was trying his best to keep busy, but all Harry knew was: he could not find a moment to eat let alone search the corridors for Malfoy's blond head. All the same, Harry found that he had much less time to dwell on Sirius, and his own thoughts, thus he felt somewhat happier.

The common room was emptying as students filtered to work outside. Harry was tempted to catch the final rays of sunlight for the year, but didn't want to put himself in the middle of the spotlight.

Though, with Hermione's nervous glances and Ron's fidgeting he found himself quite as uncomfortable in the common room as bigfoot in size two shoes. He stood up, said a few farewell words and set off through the portrait hole.

The corridors were as empty as the common room. Most of the students seemed to be sprawled upon the front lawn, drinking pumpkin juice or watch the giant squid stretch lazily. He hardly noticed where he was going, when he rounded a corner and bumped head first into someone. The person squeaked and fell onto the floor, as did Harry. His glasses flew off his nose; he groped the floor for them until he felt glass beneath his fingers. Pulling up the frame he tapped it with his wand and muttered "reparo". The glass assembled itself into two ovals and flew back into the frame. He pushed them onto his nose, and looked to see who he had run into.

Draco Malfoy was sitting up, rubbing his head. His hair was not as well taken care of as usual, and there was dirt on his robes. Malfoy was silent for a moment before he stood up, his eyes falling on the other boy, he scowled.

"Oh if it's not Potty Potter, where's The Weasel and that jumped up Mudblood?"

"And if it's not Mr. Ferret."

Harry knew it was childish, but he also knew that asking Malfoy to be his friend was both embarrassing as it was illogical. Malfoy wasn't the type to answer questions to an obvious enemy.

"Mean-Nasty-Gryffindor. It hurts me deep down and tears me to pieces." Draco gave a fake sob, wiping his eyes. He turned his pointed face up to Harry. "Go of to sit with your sodding Gryffindors, Sir Chosen One."

Harry's anger was reaching boiling point.

"For crying out loud I just saw you in the sodding Mirror of Erised you stupid bloody Slytherin! I just wanted to know why you cursed it"

"What Mirror?" Draco shouted, his marble face was tinged pink from frustration.

"The Mirror of Erised, it shows you want you want most in the world! Why the bloody hell did you curse it?"

Draco stopped for a moment, his face stony.

"I didn't curse it! Don't be daft! I haven't even heard of the mirror before now! I'm tired of your stupid lies, you may be The Chosen One but you don't have the right to waste my time!"

Harry decided on the moment, the best way to ask Malfoy to talk was just that, to ask him. He didn't think Malfoy would take the mirror seriously, and was right. So, on one final attempt her asked:

"Want to talk?"

This seemed to take Malfoy aback. He glanced at Harry suspiciously searching the other boy's features from some sign of a joke.

"What did you just say?" He asked Harry, seemingly under the impression that he had misheard Harry.

"Want to go talk?" he repeated.

Malfoy's eyes glinted. He stared at Harry in surprise before covering it up with his usual stony expression.

"You seem to have mistaken me for The Weasel."

Draco got up to walk away, but Harry grabbed his arm. He had to talk to Malfoy, or he'd go mad. He had to find out why the mirror showed him this arrogant piece of scum.

"Let go of me." Malfoy spat with barely suppressed rage. His fist's clenched into balls.

"No. Not until you speak with me, about the mirror."

Draco considered him with wary eyes.

"Your serious aren't you? You really saw me in a mirror. I always knew you were mad. Fine. Only if I can bring Crabbe and Goyle. So I know you aren't building an army of Gryffindor's, to jump me while I'm all alone and innocent."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He firmly doubted Malfoy had ever been innocent, but was worried that upon saying that the other boy may leave.

"No way! Crabbe and Goyle stay in the Dungeons!" He yelled. Draco sneered.

"Fine. Then I stay in the Dungeons as well." Malfoy said, turning away.

Harry crabbed his arm.

"Fine." He muttered

"Tonight in the kitchens at ten o'clock, then. At the very least this should be a laugh." Harry's mouth fell opened upon Malfoy's words. This snapped Harry back on posture.

"Curfew is at nine." He stammered.

"Captain Obvious are we?" Draco taunted.

"No it's just- "

"What? Scared Potty?"

"No." Harry said honestly.

"Fine, then. Be in the kitchens at nine, Potter."

With that Malfoy walked a way. There was a mixture of anger and thrill shooting through Harry. Even if Malfoy made his skin crawl with fury, he was one of the only people who didn't treat him different, because of his status of The Chosen One.

With his emotions filled with confusing questions, he walked down to the Entrance Hall, his mind somewhere else.

_To Be Continued..._


	3. Drunk

**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me. They belong to JKR. :) The Lyrics belong to Bright Eyes.

**Author's Notes:** I enjoyed writing this chapter. I'm not best with dialog's, but I had fun doing it. I think the scenes I do best are when the character is thinking, like the scene about how Draco came about writing. Maybe you all think differently.

I found a beta, and I am have her do the first two chapter's. She'll be doing them from now on. She has yet to do this chapter because I didn't want to wait a week to put it up.

I wanted to thank those of you who reviewed my last two chapters. When I say "Critique" I don't mean "Compliment". I actually mean, i'd like you to tell me what I can improve on, and what I did well. What you liked or didn't like. It help's me grow. Though of course if you can't find anything I can improve on, compliments make me feel good. I just want honesty. :)

I'm sure you all don't want a long author's note. So, without further ado, here is chapter three:

_The end of the paralysis  
I was a statuette  
Now I'm drunk as hell on a piano bench  
And when I press the keys  
It all gets reversed  
The sound of loneliness makes me happier _  
-Bright Eyes / Poison Oak 

Harry sat in the window seat in the dormitory. He looked out at the darkened sky. The moon hung low once more, star's scattering the heavens. He held a bottle of whiskey in between his palms, clenching it like a lifeline. He brought it to his lips, and took a gulp. It burned on the way down. The fire roaring through his esophagus, made a maddening thrumming sensation as it drained into his stomach. His inside's swirled threatening to lose it's content's upon the Oriental rug.

It helped though.

It drained his thoughts of meaning, and left everything with a glittering hue.

Yes, it helped.

The evening had not been what he had expected. But what had he really expected? Malfoy to greet him with open arms, and answer every question easily? No said an honest voice sounding much like Hermione. No , but I hadn't expected this...

A swirling of images and memories clouded his head, as he remembered:

The sun fell spraying the horizon blood-red, as though with an invisible paint set. Harry sat in a spindly-legged chair, in front of one of the windows in the common room. He watched as the red sunset turned black as tar, and was sprayed with opals. He checked his watch, fifteen minutes to ten. Harry stood up and found his way to the portrait hole. No one asked where he was going (Hermione and Ron were having there usual fight about homework). The halls were scattered with prefects. Harry had made sure his badge was pinned to his chest, earlier that evening in front of the mirror. He had wondered whether Malfoy would be able to make it to the Kitchens on time, seeing as he had lost his prefect badge last year. After tickling the pear on the portrait of the bowl of fruit, he entered the Kitchens. He was relieved to find Malfoy lying on top of one of the many tables, early. He was eating what looked like tossed salad with whipped cream.

"You're early," Harry stated.

"We have established that you state the obvious." Malfoy snarled, sticking his finger in the whipped cream and licking it off.

Crabbe and Goyle were in the corner eying Harry suspiciously. They stopped eating cookies every now and then to flex their muscles threateningly at Harry.

The bustling of working house elves, gave a soft hum of shuffling feat in the background. He sat in a chair next to the table Draco was laying on.

"You now that's disgusting don't you?" Harry nodded at the concoction Malfoy had created in the bowl.

The other boy gave a dry laugh. "Now Potter, I doubt you came hear to discuss my eating habits." Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Now get on with it, I have homework to do and a game of wizards' chess to play."

"Err," Now that he was here he wasn't quite sure what to say, "Um."

The Slytherin set down his fork and turned his attention away from food. He stared at the other boy.

"If 'um' and 'err' is all you had to say. And the only reason I snuck out of the dormitory, I swear I may murder you in your sleep." Harry shot Malfoy a glare, before thinking about Malfoy sneaking into his dormitory while Harry was sleeping. A weird flutter shot through Harry's stomach. A sensation Harry thought may be nauseousness.

"Shut up Malfoy! I'm trying to figure out how to say something." Harry growled angrily, his cheek's flushed.

"'Trying' being the key word there. Here, have a beer, it'll loosen you up a bit." Draco snapped his fingers, and two house elves came scurrying to his side. (Here would be the opportune time to tell me about the house elves. What are they wearing? How can Harry tell their sexes apart? Later are their voices high and squeaky?)

"Yes Master?" Asked the male house elf, with eyes as wide as orbs.

"A Beer, now." Malfoy ordered.

"Yes sirs." exclaimed the female elf to the left of the male one. Harry tried not to think of what Hermione's expression would be, if she saw Malfoy ordering the house elves around. She bustled away to return with a dusty muggle beer. It must have been sitting in the kitchen for ages. The blond boy pointed his finger at Harry, and the elf handed to him. He set the glass on the table.

"Drink up, Potter."

"No!" Harry shouted his voice a little to angry for the situation.

"Oh Saintly Potter to good to have a beer? Or are you practicing your 'say no to drugs' skills?" Malfoy asked, his lips curled into a sneer.

"No... It's just - " Harry began but the other boy cut him off.

"Just what?" Malfoy interjected.

"I don't think it's a good idea!" Harry snarled, his voice thick with anger.

Malfoy sneered. Harry sensed this was the closest thing to a smile he would offer.

"Fine be incoherent sober, it's much more amusing drunk, though." Malfoy tilted his head.

Harry took the beer, and unscrewed the lid. Then downed a gulp, all to aware that Malfoy had manipulated him into drinking it. He gagged, it tasted like urine.

"Gross." Harry whimpered, through coughs.

"You get used to the flavor." Malfoy acknowledged, giving a smile to Crabbe and Goyle, who were sniggering into their cookies.

"I don't think I want to get used to it." Harry objected, wiping his mouth on his robes sleeve.

"Maybe you're more of a Fire Whiskey type." He clapped his hands, and the female elf from moments before returned next to them. "A bottle of Fire Whiskey."

Harry shook his head, "Malfoy I don't want one."

" Nonsense." when the elf returned, Malfoy handed the drink to Harry. The other boy eyed the amber liquid warily, before uncorking it, and taking a swig. It burned going down, like a million darts being shot down his throat, the target was his stomach. Harry found the pain actually felt good. He took another swallow. The light instantly started to glitter. He felt a rush go through him, he didn't care how uncomfortable he was, the liquid was making him braver.

"Your hair is shiny." Harry told Malfoy. The pale boy just smiled, Crabbe and Goyle's laughs no longer seemed sinister but friendlier. He waved at the two other boys. They doubled over with sniggers.

The room was shining with lights, sparkly dots hung in the air, which he hadn't noticed before. Harry felt good just watching them move like dust through the empty space.

"What did you want to talk about, Potter?" Malfoy asked.

Harry jumped; he had forgotten he wasn't alone. He turned his gaze from the glitter to the boy.

"Oh, I saw you in the mirror. I don't know why." Harry replied.

"Give me a drink of that." Malfoy demanded. Harry took another gulp, the pain easing as sensations were numbed. He handed the bottle over. The blond took a gulp, tilting his head back.

"Well, I can't help you with the mirror. I haven't seen it."

Harry was sipping from the bottle now. Tiny sips that stabbed at the side of his mouth.

"Well why did you end up in the birrow. No mirror . I said birrow . Birrow." He was shaking with laughter. It didn't matter what was funny, just that he laughed or else he might explode from the hilarity.

"You sod." Malfoy acknowledged, a smile playing on his lips.

"Git." Harry choked through laughs.

Before he knew it, the room was spinning. And darkness coming. It was covering him like a blanket as he hit the floor.

When he woke up, Dobby was easing a cold washcloth on his face. Tears in his green eyes.

"Dobby thoughts you were dead!" The elf shrieked, his voice unusually high. "Dobby thinks Harry Potter has had enough!" The elf took the amber bottle out of Harry's hands. The lights were still dancing but the room didn't seem as friendly.

"Hey... give it back." Harry whined through lidded eyes.

"You passed out, Potter." Draco interjected; he was smiling a wide grin. That was a real smile, not a sneer. "Strong stuff that whiskey."

Harry shook his head.

"Look at the lights, Malfoy. They kind of glow don't they? It's like..." Harry began but he couldn't find the right word.

"Stars." Malfoy finished for him.

"Yeah..." The other boy agreed.

"Come on. We better get you up to your dormitory or that house elf might have a heart attack." He pointed at Dobby, who was emptying the bottle, and mumbling about Malfoy's being bad influences.

The Slytherin pulled Harry to his feet. Harry swayed on the spot, the room spinning. He found that once he put one foot in front of the other walking wasn't so hard; it was the staying up right that was difficult. Malfoy laced a hand under The Gryffindor's arm, balancing him.

Harry grabbed another bottle of liquid from beside the door. The Fire Whiskey was inside a marked box, which read For Teachers. There were tons of them.

"One for the road." Harry told a near by house elf. The elf nodded. Malfoy dropped his head back as though inspecting the ceiling, and laughed.

"For the road? Haven't you had enough?"

"Nope." Harry exclaimed. He tried to walk on his own. His head came in contact with something hard, and decided to let the other boy help him.

"Crabbe, Goyle, I want you both to go and make sure there are no prefect's outside, nor teacher's. I want both of you to go around corner's first." The blond said.

"I'm a prefect." Harry slurred.

"I doubt you will be if someone sees you this sloshed. Go you two." Both boy's lumbered out after Malfoy gave his orders. They waited a minute, head's pressed against the door, then followed.

The journey up to Gryffindor Tower was a long one. They waited for Crabbe and Goyle to round corners before going themselves. Harry was surprised neither boy got a detention; they didn't meet a single prefect.

When they were up six flights of stairs an alarming thought hit Harry.

"Malfoy, if the stair's moved would you catch me before I fell off?"

The other boy seemed to consider this, hefting Harry up the steps.

"Yes." He decided. "I wouldn't go to Azkaban for you. You're not worth it. Salazar Slytherin knows, that your Gryffindor friends would try to blame me."

That didn't ease Harry's nerves any.

When they reached the tower, Harry stumbled up to The Fat Lady.

"Are you going to be alright from here?"

"Funny, it almost sounds like you care, Malfoy" Harry slurred.

"Of course I don't! But I don't want to be framed for murder just for not walking you to bed and tucking you in!" Malfoy snarled, before turning his back on Harry. He walked briskly down the staircase, his robes billowing behind him.

Harry mumbled the password (Water Logged), and stumbled into the common room. It wouldn't be for days, until after his hang over subsided, that he would realize he almost had fun with Malfoy. Weird.

* * *

Draco awoke with a start; the sheet's tangled around him in a damp knot. He couldn't breathe. Shadows were moving around the dormitory room, the shadow's of images that were just moving behind his closed eyes. He blinked and the dark shapes were gone.

He sat up, holding his head in his hands. The windowpanes shook with the force of the storm outside. Draco put his feat over the edge of his four-poster, and swung himself off the bed. The stone floor felt cold on his warm bare feet. There was only one thing to do now. He tiptoed to the end of his bed, and opened his trunk. Draco's Journal was sitting beneath his robes, with a quill beside it.

He pulled it out, and returned to his bed. In his journal he wrote:

_September 21, 2005 _

I had that dream again. The one where I am standing in the middle of an orchard and the sky turns black. The leaves wither and die. Everything hazes to black and the meadow melts away. I am now standing in the middle of a cold dudgeon room. There is clicking somewhere above me but I can't find the source of the noise. I hold my breath until my lungs want to burst; it comes out in smoke. There is someone in the room with me; I turn to look at the person. He has black hair

Then I wake up. A lump of sweaty Pajamas in my mound of sheets. The wind is roaring against the windows. My breath is short. I roll over. I know I won't get back to sleep. The dream comes every night lately. I tried not sleeping. Tried staying awake. I have tried everything short of going to St. Mungo's. It comes over and over in stunning clarity. When I wake up I can't remember who the man is. I can only remember that horrible black hair. It hurts my eyes.

Draco closed the pages, deciding to wipe them clean in the morning. As he lay back against his four-poster bed, thoughts clouded him. Who was that man? He had a feeling it was someone he knew, but he couldn't put two and two together. It was like only having half the puzzle; it just left him frustrated and sweaty.

The Fire Whiskey coursed through him. If he thought it enough, he could almost believe it was just a drunk dream.

Crabbe's and Goyle's snores kept him awake, until the sun flickered minty green rays of morning light, through the blades of grass obscuring the dudgeon window. Whenever he closed his eye's he could see the field mutating into a dudgeon room. This dudgeon room?

Before sleep fogged his senses once more, he had one last coherent thought: Whoever the man is, he was a threat.

* * *

The morning dawned Murky gray, the wind howling. The trees outside the dormitory window were shaken and rattled, as though by invisible hands. The first thing Harry saw that morning when he opened his eyes, was the ever familiar crack in the ceiling. When Harry was in first year he though the crack looked a bit like eyes if he squinted. The crack was shaped like a lopsided V. One side of the V hanging over Harry's bed the other over Ron's. A droplet of liquid fell from the depths of the crack and landed on Harry's chest. His PJ shirt was covered in many dots, marking where water had leaked through the crack throughout the night.

"Lovely" Harry growled.

His head pounded, as he rolled over. His stomach lifted as though awaking to, he thought he might be sick. He closed his eyes, to keep the light out. I must be ill... Then he remember, he had gotten very drunk with Malfoy, just hours ago.

What little light the sky outside held, filtered in through the curtains, casting a red hue on Harry's face. If he looked closely enough he could see dust particles floating in the air. His dorm mates were still sleeping. Good , this way the way Harry preferred Gryffindor Tower.

He rolled over onto his side, and pulled the velvet duvet over his head. The morning light vanished. Harry's head gave a happy sigh, as the pain receded. Sleep was just about to cover him once more when he was shaken, by firm hands.

"Harry wake up." It was Ron. He could tell by the voice, and the sparks of red hair, that Harry glimpsed every time the covers were dislodged from above his head.

"Shh. Not so loud." Harry groaned, as an angry throb exploded above his head from Ron's voice.

"What the bloody hell are you still doing in bed?" Ron exclaimed, not bothering to keep his voice down. "And why is there a fire whiskey bottle by the window? Did you get sloshed, and not give me a bit? Or was it Dean and Seamus?"

"I said be quiet ." Harry groaned. His head was going to burst, he was sure of it.

Ron pulled the covers off, and sniffed Harry.

"You smell like alcohol. Do you have a hangover?" Ron asked.

Oh, that's what this is... Harry thought.

Harry nodded, but stopped just as quickly, movement hurt.

"I'm going to get Hermione." Ron decided out loud. Harry didn't even argue. The silence that followed his friend's departure was reward enough. He pulled the blankets over his head and let the dark soothe him.

The sound of footsteps and the door bursting open announced Ron's return. Harry groaned inwardly. The footstep's shuffled to the head of his four-poster. Harry's blankets were pulled off by Hermione. Ron was going out of the dormitory, his ears slightly red.

"Harry are you alright?" She asked. Her eyes were filled with worry. Harry closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see them.

"I'm fine. Just give me back my blankets." Harry grumbled, his stomach filling with guilt.

"No. You'll be late for classes. If you really are fine you're going to them." She noted.

Harry pulled at the blankets but Hermione wouldn't budge.

"Harry what is wrong?" She asked. Harry could hear the worry in his voice, and was afraid if he opened his eye's he'd be overwhelmed by it.

"Nothing." He snarled.

"Is it true what Ron said? He said you were smashed." She exclaimed.

Harry's head gave a horrible throb. He meant a mental note to kill Ron later.

"Yes." He whimpered. Moving his jaw was just as bad as opening his eyes.

Hermione surprised him: She didn't lecture him on the dangers of drinking, nor did she tell him how irresponsible it was for him to get sloshed on a school night. She sat down beside him on the bed, and conjured up a cold washcloth. She put it on his head.

"I wish I knew a spell to cure hangovers, but since I didn't expect you to get drunk last night, I didn't do any research." Harry could almost hear a smile in her voice.

"Thanks 'Mione." He replied. The cloth really made a difference. The hot angry throbbing subsided with the cool cloth. Harry was falling between consciousness and sleep, when Hermione spoke.

"I'm not going to be angry with you now. Or make you answer questions. We need to talk when you are feeling better, though." She replied softly.

Harry sighed, then nodded. The mattress shifted beneath him as Hermione stood up and left the room, silently.

Harry, who was sliding into a dream, didn't know that floor's below him Draco Malfoy was getting over a hangover as well.

_To Be Continued..._


	4. Rain

**A/N: If you have critique on my style, let me know. I am having a few friends Beta read the first three chapters. I have been waiting for almost a week to have this one done, but since the other three had to be done first, this one comes last. It'll be beta read i'd say next week. If you don't like minor spelling and grammar mistakes don't read this chapter for two weeks.I was going to wait but I couldn't! I loved this chapter, and the funny thing is, it came so easily.**

**I picked the lyrics for this chapter, because if you look closely, Harry feels very much on the sidelines. Plus, death and heaven is addressed here. **

**Disclaimer: The characters belong to JKR. The Lyrics also don't belong to me, they belong to Bright Eyes.**

_And from the sidelines  
I see you run  
until you're out of breath.  
And all those white lines that sped us up  
we hurry to our death  
well I lagged behind  
so you got ahead _  
Bright Eyes - Gold Mine Gutted 

Harry wouldn't admit it, but he still wanted things he couldn't have. Childish things he should have let go of, ages ago.

On occasion he'd find himself watching Ginny and Ron; Jealousy coursing through him. Then he'd look away ashamed. They would always have each other. They'd always have parent's who'd go out of there way to make sure their children knew they cared. Harry would have given anything for that. He'd give his small fortune in Gringotts to Umbridge. Or walk across a desert of hot coals, knowing his Mom and Dad were on the other side.

Sometimes he'd dream about it. About his parents. His Mom's face would turn into his Dad's; who in turn would turn into Sirius, with his shaggy black hair. There would be scents that were familiar but he couldn't quite place. And Sirius's warm embrace. He'd wake up sweaty and hungry.

Over the summer he'd have the dream nightly. Now he had them weekly. It only increased the sense of guilt. He was worried he might be forgetting Sirius, too quickly.

He blinked into the darkness. Harry thought his stomach must have woken him up.

He kept a stash of food, in a box under his four posters for such occasions. He rolled out of the warm bed, and got onto his hands and knees. He pulled the box out of the folds of darkness the mattress created. Harry sat on the floor beside the bed, and opened the container. The loaf of bread and packages of Cauldron Cakes sat waiting for him.

He ate slice after slice of wheat bread. He squashed each piece of bread into a ball. Harry liked the feeling of denseness that the tightly squashed spheres created in his stomach. Then he ate as many Cauldron Cakes as he could cram into his mouth.

He didn't stop until it felt like the seams of his stomach were ripping. Still, as he laid himself in a ball on the floor. An empty ache, near his stomach gave a painful growl. Harry knew it was the space that was once filled by Sirius, and his parent's before him. The food only made it feel full for so long.

A stitch in his belly popped open. Chunks of bread and cakes made its way up his esophagus, and through his mouth. He watched as the food fell onto the wooden floor of the dormitory, in reverse order of the way they went down.

When his stomach was empty, he looked at the food on the floor in morbid fascination. His eyes were slightly out of focus. The brown of the bread mixed with the darkness of the cakes. A blend of emotion.

As he aimed a few cleaning spells at the floor, he made a mental note not to eat so much next time.

* * *

Draco loved the rain. It was something that kept him up, and soothed him. When he drew open the blinds Friday morning, he was thrilled to see jets of water falling down from the sky.

He hurriedly pulled on his robes, and brushed his hair and teeth. Without bothering to shower, he walked up the stairs to the Entrance Hall and past the Great Hall. Happy voices of eating students wafted out through the open doors, of the Hall. This was worth skipping breakfast for.

He threw open the double oak doors, and ran out into the courtyard. The air had a rich scent. Grass and Dew. A smell that reminded him of mornings at the manor, when he'd sit on the balcony after the night's shower had stopped. It had the same odor.

He remembered made up stories his mother used to tell him before bed. It always had happy endings. Draco didn't believe in happy endings anymore, he didn't believe in endings either. How did he know when one story stopped and another began? That was it, he wouldn't know the ending until he was dead, and that'd be to late. It made his head spin.

The stories his mother would tell him, always took place in a far away land. She'd usually only tell them during a thunderstorm, when he was scared. She wouldn't bother on a normal evening. He didn't remember the tales, but he remembered a phrase she would always use. When it rains, angels are crying. When it thunders God is angry.

He'd ask her about God, but she'd always say: "The Dark Lord is the only God we know," Her cheeks would flush, and something behind her Gray eyes would tell Draco, that she had let something slip. Something else told him that she didn't used to believe The Dark Lord was the only God.

He shook his head. That was then, this was now. Now, was a totally different situation.

The grass soaked the ends of his robes, and boots. The rain, still falling, fell from the tips of his hair. It was cool out, but not cold enough for him to catch a chill.

The lake was being pelted with rain. Water collided with water. He could hear it from upon the hill. Draco took the worn dirt path down the slope to the docks. The rocky crust of the lake was slippery from newly formed mud. He climbed onto the wooden dock, which was rocking gently with the waves, and laid down.

Draco looked up at the sky, it was a dark gray that he knew matched. He watched clear drops fall. If he looked closely the rain seemed like daggers falling from a sheet of gray velvet. He paid attention to the rhythm of the water as it pounded his body. It hurt when the rain came in contact with exposed skin. Like knives almost.

* * *

Harry was sitting in the Great Hall. The day before had been used to throw off his hang over. He now knew why you had to be eighteen in Britain to drink. The sky was gray once more, and it brought with it a sense of sadness. The thunder-gray sky pressed down on him like a woolen blanket, until he wanted to crawl out of himself.

He stared down at the paper's Hermione had deposited in front of him.

"The work you missed," she told him briskly, before sitting down and pouring herself Orange Juice.

He stared at the pile glumly. Hermione kept glancing at him. He knew that she was calculating him. Her eyes boring into his head, as though attempting legimency. It angered him for some reason.

Through the open double doors Harry saw a blond figure rushing though the Entrance Hall to the main door for the school grounds, then opening it and disappearing outside. Harry recognized that figure. It was Malfoy. He stood up before he knew what he was doing. He mumbled something about forgetting his bag upstairs before leaving.

"But Harry, your bag is right here!" Ron yelled to his friends retreating back. Hermione pulled at Ron to force him to sit down. She casting Harry a worried look. He didn't care. Harry had to get out of there.

He walked through the Entrance Hall, his footstep echoing around the marble room. He pushed the doors that stood infront of him open. A wall of cold wind and rain pelted his face. He stepped into the storm.

From the top of the steps, Harry saw Malfoy walk down the grassy slope. His hair falling back, away from his face.

He moved down a few steps, but kept his eyes on the other boy. Malfoy had reached the docks, and was climbing on them and lying down. He looked foolish lying there in the rain, but so much like a veela Harry found it overwhelming.

His legs moved forward on their own accord. The rain was somewhat uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as Hermione's searching looks. He reached the knoll that led to the lakes shore. Harry walked down it, trying to be as quiet as he could. He didn't want Malfoy to know he was approaching, he wasn't sure why though.

When he reached the head of the dock, he stopped. The Slytherin's eyes were closed against the brutal down pour. His face scrunched up, deep in thought. Harry found himself wondering what Malfoy was thinking. He took a step closer, and a twig broke under his foot. Malfoy's head shot up.

"What are you doing?" He demanded.

Harry didn't say anything for a few moments.

"Nothing," he admitted lamely.

"Can you go do 'nothing' someplace else? I'm busy," The other boy replied curtly. Malfoy lay back down, and stared up at the sky. Harry thought that he might drown in gray. The gray of Malfoy's eyes matched the gray of the sky. They seemed to run together like watercolors and turn the whole world gray.

"Why are you out here in the rain?" Harry asked, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them.

"Why are you still here," The blond snapped.

"Just curious," Harry murmured.

"Well if you must know, I like the rain." Malfoy said curtly.

"I think it's depressing." Harry replied. He found it quite easy to speak to the Slytherin, even if they were out in the rain drenched from head to foot.

"That's what makes you a bad potion maker, Potter. You don't enjoy subtlety," Malfoy turned to look at him.

Harry thought about it for a moment.

"I never thought of the rain as 'subtle'. I always saw it as pounding on your window and demanding your attention," Harry muttered.

"Mmm. Well maybe it does a little, that's part of its beauty. Now go away Potter," The other boy growled.

"Never one with subtlety either, were you?" Harry laughed at the hypocrisy of Malfoy's reply.

The Slytherin turned to look at Harry. He sat up, his robes drenched with rainwater. It had pooled in crevices of his robes, and poured down his front, at the abrupt movement. He seemed somehow beautiful. Beautiful? Malfoy? Now Harry knew he was going slightly mad.

Harry climbed onto the dock. He walked to the edge and sat down.

"I tell him to get lost and he makes himself comfortable," Malfoy snarled scathingly.

Harry ignored the blond. He busied himself, watching the Giant Squid moving around just below the surface of the water.

"If I tell him to 'stay here', will he walk off a cliff? Lets see. 'Stay here'."

"Shut up," Harry growled with annoyance.

"Go away," Draco interjected.

The two boys fell into an uncomfortable silence. The only sounds were the pounding of the rain, and the sound of the dock rocking with the waves.

"I don't remember if you told me about the mirror. Did you curse it?"

Malfoy gave an ironic laugh. He hit himself in the head with the back of his hand.

"Oh yes! The mirror! That's why you're bothering me! Well, no Potter, I did not curse the bloody mirror."

His stomach plummeted to somewhere near his feet.

"Then why is it lying?"

"Who knows! It's one of life's better mysteries! Like, If cocaine were legal, would they sell it in little packages like Sweet N' Low? Would they call it Sweet N' High?" Malfoy said coolly, looking at Harry.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Harry asked.

"Just something to think about. A mystery. Just like the Bloody Mirror. Or After heat killed bad germs, where do they go? Obviously not in heaven, since they've been bad. Surely then can't go to hell, for the heat would kill them again?" Malfoy replied.

The dark haired boy laughed.

"They'd go to heaven. Just because they are bad for us doesn't mean they are bad in general," Harry mused out loud.

"Do you believe in heaven, Potter?" Malfoy asked abruptly.

"I like to think there is. I'd like to see the people I miss again someday... Do you, Malfoy?"

"I don't know. It's illogical. But... I might," Malfoy concluded.

"Have you ever been to the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked.

"No! Of course not! Only Unspeakable can go in there," Malfoy snarled.

"I have. There's a room in there, one about death. There's an archway with a veil. If you pass through it you die instantly. If you stand really still, you can hear people talking on the other side. I think that's where we go when we die," Harry replied, feeling slightly shocked that the mention of that room didn't hurt him.

Malfoy just stared. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"You mean to tell me, when we die, we will go through a veil?" He inquired.

"Yes," Harry said.

Silence settled around them, thick as a forest. It wasn't an awkward silence, but a comfortable one. An understanding linked to the two boys. An understanding of life and death, and possibly of something quite like friendship.

_To Be Continued..._


	5. The Black Haired Man

**Disclaimer:** These characters do not belong to me. They belong to JKR. :) The Lyrics also don't belong to me, they belong to Anna Nalick.**  
Author's Notes: I'm nervous about this chapter. More nervous then the others. A lot of this was taken from notes or diary entries I wrote, and twisted to fit the characters needs. I have always believed that a story is strong if the author puts more of themself in it. **

**A few notes, from questions I have been asked:**

**1. The "Dark Haired Man" Will become important to the story.  
2. Draco's notebook will become an important aspect of the story. I won't say how.  
3. I have been thinking about making this a tad bit Remus/Sirius. Of course in the past, but I might just write another story for that. It was just a thought, not a sure thing.**

**Another this is, this chapter isn't as long as the others. With school it has been hard to find time to write. Honestly, I didn't want to rush the story. I hope you all like it.**

_Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,  
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.  
No one can find the rewind button, boys,  
So cradle your head in your hands,  
And breathe... just breathe,  
Oh breathe, just breathe Anna Nalick - Breathe (2am) _

Fate. Everyone said, sit still and it will work itself out. Draco didn't believe gifts and chances were just handed out to patiently waiting individuals. Options were something you had to work for. Fight and give your opponent all you had. You had to want it, taste it.

Draco was thinking about options as he walked towards the dungeons, his rain-drenched clothes left a dotted trail on the stone. Perhaps he was pondering options that continued to open and close. Almost like doors. There was one such door that walked beside him his dripping-wet shaggy, black hair falling into his face.

Potter was an option. He could be a friend or a bitter enemy.It could go either way. The right end of the spectrum being an open door and the left a closed one. Potter was leaning dangerously to the right.

The reached the concealed dungeon entrance. Draco turned to the other boy.

"Wait here," He told Potter, and was reminded horribly of telling a dog to 'stay'. He murmured the password under his breath (basilisk). The dungeon wall first moved inward, then to the side, with the sound of scraping stone.

Draco walked through the empty common room, bedecked with eerie green lights and into the sixth year dormitory. Clothing littered the usually messy floor. He grabbed a set of robes, peeling off his wet ones. The air felt cooler then normal, from his damp skin. Without bothering to dry off, he put on his fresh robes.

The Slytherin dug to the bottom of his trunk, and unsheathed an old pair of black robes. He hadn't worn them in ages. Not since the last day of summer, and the disaster that occurred when he had been brough to Azkaban to visit his father. He couldn't think about that. Wouldn't. He had enough on his mind with the black hair-ed man looming in his dreams. He pushed it away to the very back of his mind.

The black, well kept robes, would fit Potter just fine. He had been surprised when Potter had asked to borrow his clothes. The Gryffindor boy had said that if he went up to the tower he'd be late for the first class of the day. Draco had agreed but warily.

He stashed the robes in his arms, and trekked back through the dormitory, through the common room and into the hallway.

"Thanks. If I'm late for Potions again Snape will murder me. Then again, if I went he probably would to..." Harry growled. The bitterness in his voice took Draco aback.

Draco's breaths were coming in short puffs, when he said "I can help you if you like. Potions isn't hard if you understand it..." _What? Help Potter? What did I say that for? Get real!  
_  
Harry just stared for a moment before agreeing, "It might help. I don't know, I'll have to think about it..."

Draco handed the robes to the other boy, Potter smiled. Their fingers brushed as the fabric was transferred from Draco's hands to Potter's. It sent a weird electric thrill through his veins, from the very spot Harry's hand touched. It made Draco uneasy. He pulled his hand away, and could feel his cheeks burn.

Malfoy's Were Not Ashamed.

But this Malfoy was, for a moment in time before catching himself.

* * *

Sometimes it hurt to breathe. It hurt to see. To talk. Harry opened his bleary eyes to look out on the drab world. He saw everything and nothing at all. The sky. The lights. He held his breath until his lungs wanted to burst, and let it out. It all seemed hard in those moments. Moments before he fell down, or stood up. His nerve endings ran high. His blood pumped through his arteries.

He wanted to yell out. Harry needed to yell out. He needed them to know the chorus chanting in his mind. Harry couldn't talk. Couldn't. Everyone was watching. Everyone was waiting for him to fall, even if it seemed paranoid in his own head. It was right. It couldn't be wrong because what was really wrong? What was right? It's an opinion that everyone had to believe in and in actuality none of us did. He'd play the game, he would learn the rules. Harry made tactics. Then he lost. That was life.

He'd walk to his night-stand and try to find a sleeping potion, double the original dose and wait. Wait for darkness to consume. For his mind to slow. For it to stop. It needed to stop. Had to. And then it did and he didn't know what was worse. The screaming or the silence. If he listened silence yelled louder than a thousand train's rolling by on metal tracks. That hurt. It all hurt and sent his brain spinning off the center of nowhere and everywhere because where was he really? That isn't a place he really knew. He didn't know how he got here. Or when he would leave. His body wasn't even his own in the end. The earth is one big mystery and just thinking about it made him feel boneless. That was when the chemicals running through his system took effect and his thoughts stopped. Because the pills pushed them out. Black wedges across the screen behind his eyes.

Dreamless sleep.

* * *

Draco sat at his desk, trying very hard not to think about Potter standing wet in front of him. The feeling of damp skin on damp skin and what it could possibly mean.

He took out his writing pad, from within his trunk. He could hear the words flowing through his minds and veins. The honest and true words, that he sometimes wished he could have swallowed so long ago like his father wanted. But he wasn't his father. As he set his quill on paper he wrote:

_I worry about very tedious things. I worry that I will never amount to anything. I will never "perform to my potential". I will never be an Auror because I will never be smart enough. I will never have a girlfriend because I will never be handsome enough. Never is such a big word when you feel so weak. _

Grownups tell me I am not trying hard enough. I don't work hard enough. They don't know how hard I am on myself. How very badly, I need to be perfect. I hold in my screams until the morning, when I stand out at the lake and scream until I am gasping for breath. My voice is raspy for the rest of the day.

I hate Saturdays, because I have 24 free hours to fret. Maby I am Saturday. I used to be such a wondrous day. My cousins and I could sit out on the Quidditch Pitch until the stars came out, and then we'd go through the darkened halls to the astronomy tower. We'd lay down and look up at the milky way. When we were kids everything was so much easier. The world was so much bigger and I couldn't wait to get out there. Now I want to hide under my bed, and hold onto my floor to keep things from moving. Some of us don't want to leave Hogwarts because Hogwarts is all we know. So Hogwarts is all there is.

I listen to my "friends", while sipping butterbeer. When I listen close enough I don't hear anything at all.

He lay down on his four-poster. The pad of paper lay on his chest, with the quill and ink sitting on the nightstand. He pulled at his clothes, and worried about what could have been. What was to be. His own questions frustrated him. He rolled on his side and fell into a restless sleep, full of the black haired man.

_To Be Continued..._


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